Friday, August 29, 2008

In 1951, Cage visited the anechoic chamber at Harvard University. An anechoic chamber is a room designed in such a way that the walls, ceiling and floor absorb all sounds made in the room, rather than reflecting them as echoes. They are also externally sound-proofed. Cage entered the chamber expecting to hear silence, but he wrote later, "I heard two sounds, one high and one low. When I described them to the engineer in charge, he informed me that the high one was my nervous system in operation, the low one my blood in circulation."[9]

Tuesday, August 26, 2008

the end of the day, the end of night ( a eulogy for 26 letters)

and in the end we tried, not by chance and not by design, to wander/wonder neither inside nor outside. if this before the end, if it was something, then it was a parallel.we built supports in the parallel and each offered what we could, when we could.there was the pain that we thrived on and the past that was a succession of wrong decisions that we clung to: a waste kept tight for us/by us the stranded swimmers in the dark waiting for the current, the waves.and as we looked at each other and the being pulled under the surface, of each at their own time, we waved and planned a meeting again that would not happen and this was not a lie, it was not a grand falsehood that we drown in.this was the wavesus waving at us departing and believing that this us is us arriving

10 or ten or the number

the pleasures, and the days of counting

i do not know if it was under the influence of the illness or of a change tht was already under way, as yet unnoticed, in my outlook, but i was increasingly possessed from day to day by a pasionate, nagging desire for the ordinary life of an ordinary person.to transform to such a degree that i might loose myslf in this all too ordinary otherness that looses itself in the grand scale of the ordinary nothingness that is the day to day.to fade. to be passed by. hidden in plain view.

Thursday, August 21, 2008

Wednesday, August 20, 2008

paranormale/close up shot with debris and doll_girls

Henry Darger was one of those people hardly anyone notices, who, seemingly, move through life as shadows. Born in 1892, possibly in Brazil or in Germany by his various accounts and perhaps bearing the surname, Dargarius, young Henry lived with his father- "a tailor and a kind and easygoing man" in Chicago until 1900. In that year the elder and crippled Darger had to be taken to live in a Catholic Mission and his son was placed in a Catholic boys' home. Darger Sr. died in 1905 and his son was institutionalized as feeble-minded, apparently on the basis of a doctor's diagnosis that "Little Henry's heart is not in the right place." A series of escapes ended successfully in 1908. The 16-year-old Darger found menial employment in a Catholic hospital and in this fashion continued to support himself for the following 50 years. His life took on a pattern that seems to have varied little: he attended Mass daily, frequently returning for as many as five services; he collected and saved a bewildering array of trash from the streets. His dress was shabby; he was a solitary. In 1930 he settled into a second-floor room on Chicago's north side. It was in this room, more than 40 years later, after his death in 1973, that Darger's extraordinary secret life was discovered.

Amid a thick accumulation of debris- including hundreds of Pepto-Bismol bottles, nearly a thousand balls of string, old newspapers, magazines and comic books, religious kitsch and much more- his landlord, the photographer Nathan Lerner, found a creative life's work: an enormous literary and pictorial production. The key element was a picaresque tale in 12 massive volumes composed of some 19,000 pages of legal-sized paper filled with single-spaced typing entitled The Story of the Vivian Girls, in what is Known as the Realms of the Unreal, of the Glandeco-Angelinian War Storm, Caused by the Child Slave Rebellion. The origins of this epic appear to be in 1909. It took more than eleven years to write it in longhand; in 1912 Darger began the task of typing the still incomplete manuscript.

Monday, August 18, 2008

Nefertiti was said to have died five days before her 40th birthday. But her sarcophagus was never found, and the rumors persist in the time tunnels that she was seen traveling to the future in the company of ...

fear (+/of) form/_1

unnatural histories (two)

open sky_H.H was holed up in a single room in the Desert Inn Hotel in Las Vegas for 15 years, endlessly watching Sturges'"ICE STATION ZEBRA"

a technological monk that was not only polar inertia incarnate but, more importantly, the first inhabitant of an increasingly mass situation/the quest for the progress of speed without the knowledge of the engine's exterminating character.

Friday, August 15, 2008

unnatural histories (one)

i am the angel of despair/with my hands i hand out ecstasy,numbness,forgetfulness, the pleasure and pain of bodies/my language is silence, my song the cry/in the shadow of my wings dwells terror/my hope is the last gasp/my hope is the first battle/i am the knife with which the dead pry open their coffin/i am who will be/my flight is the insurrection, my heaven the abyss of tomorrow//